


Them Brooklyn Boys is Big!

by hofflepomp



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: As is Jack, But Crutchie's only in it a tiny bit, Gen, How Race became a Newsie, Origin Story, yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 21:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15033584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hofflepomp/pseuds/hofflepomp
Summary: Anthony has been kicked out for three weeks, and it is his birthday, so he wants to get himself something special. He also picked the wrong person to steal from, and finds himself in a sticky situation.. . .Or, Race steals a cigar from Spot and Spot almost beats him up.





	Them Brooklyn Boys is Big!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I was on an airplane and bored, so I wrote this one shot. Enjoy!

Three weeks. Anthony had been kicked out for three weeks. It was also his birthday. He was turning fifteen today, and he was all alone on the streets and unable to give himself a gift. He had no one and hadn’t eaten in a few days. Life sucked.

All because he had told his dad about his mom’s affair. Anthony hadn’t done anything wrong, but his mom insisted in her thick Italian accent that he would have to leave because he was trying to ear the entire family apart.

Well Anthony didn’t want to be there anyway. He just didn’t want to be here either, a homeless kid on the streets of New York on his birthday. He couldn’t go home, and if he didn’t have parents there was no way he was going to school. With no money, he couldn’t buy anything.

Just to be able to get himself a birthday present, Anthony would have to steal from somebody else, which deeply saddened him. He had no problems taking from people who had plenty of extra, the ones who wandered into their fancy apartments at night in heavy clothes and sniffed at his dirty face.

What made Anthony sad was that most of those people didn’t wander in the parts he was in, so he would have to take from a person who might be very excited to have just one treat. They could have been saving up for forever, and Anthony might be taking that all away.

He walked along a street in Brooklyn, looking for something for his birthday. A shorter kid was talking to a man in a suit, trying to convince him to buy a newspaper. He had a cigar stuffed in his back pocket. Perfect. Anthony had only had a cigar once before, and it made him feel very grown up.

He was fifteen now, so he might as well do stuff to be grown up. He walked up to the guy but didn’t notice his muscles. He grabbed the cigar and ran.

Anthony ducked into an alleyway and turned onto another street. There were no footsteps behind him. He kept running in a strange unpredictable route. He went back to his corner in an alley six blocks away. Nobody cared about a running teen in the middle of the city on a fall Saturday morning. It was normal, nearly expected for kids to run about.

Anthony shoved it underneath his hat and pondered what he would do for the rest of the day. A rat came up and sat next to him. He named it Bella. Bella stated sniffing his shoe.

Anthony leaned back, and let the sun shine on his face, in a small sliver that was peeking through from above one of the alley walls. This was actually not his worst birthday. Number eight was up there, when he got sick and had to stay in bed all day and kept throwing up.

. . .

Next thing Anthony knew, he woke up in the same spot with the cigar under his hat on his head in an alley in Brooklyn. It was about noon, judging from the light.

It was his birthday, so Anthony decided to go bet some lunch. He could steal some money and buy a cheap meal. He set about walking around trying to find a person who was a tiny bit to careless with his wallet.

A guy had his hand in his pocket, rifling through his change. A jingly sound filled the air around him. Seemed like at least a few dollars in change. Anthony walked up and put his hand in the pocket the second the hand left. He closed his hand around as much as he could get and tried to run in the opposite direction.

An arm grabbed his, and Anthony realized he had been caught.

The am grabbing his was buff, and the muscles rippled.

“You think you can steal from me twice in one day? Those are not good odds. Remind me not to let ya bet for me.” The guy glared. “I oughta beat you up just for trying to take my stuff. That change- oh yeah give me that back- took about a week to get.”

“I- I didn’t realize,” Anthony gulped. This was the other reason he was uncomfortable stealing. He really didn’t want to get beat up. He almost started to choke, he was so scared. This was horrible. “I’m sorry I. I’m a changed man please.”

The grip on his arm loosened.

“Was that a goddamn pun? I’m trying to be intimidating, jeezus.” The guy started laugh. “Don’t ruin my image kid.”

Anthony hadn’t meant to make he pun. But it seemed to have saved his skin. He went with it.

“Well, that’s what I’m for. Stealing your stuff, ruining your image, making badly timed puns…” He had no idea what he was doing. But joking had saved him a moment ago, maybe he could get away safely.

A sigh escaped the guy’s mouth.

“I can’t beat ya to pieces now! Follow me. I’m Spot.” Spot let go of Anthony’s arm. Spot was still looking at Anthony. What did he want? “What’s your name?”

Oh!

“I’m Anthony. And usually I am pretty good at betting, I used to help my dad went we went to the horse races, but I didn’t realize it was you twice.”

“Hm. I woulda thought that your name was Race, then, considering you always race away after you steal and you’re a good better. Yeah I’mma call you Race. Come on Race.”

Anthony, newly dubbed Race followed Spot, pondering this new nickname. It suited him. Anthony was a bit clunky and made him seem like a rich snob. But Race also implied that he was a little street urchin. Although he supposed he now _was_ a street urchin. It would need further though on whether or not he would use this nickname.

Spot led him inside a what looked like a lodging house. He went up into a room and Anthony followed. There was a small bunk bed, and a toilet. Pretty much nothing else in the room.

“You sleep here tonight, I can make somebody double up.”

Anthony didn’t protest. Spot sat down on the bottom bunk and gestured for him to sit on the ground in front of him.

“Tell me your story. I’ll decide if you deserve to be beat up or if I’ll let ya go.”

So Anthony told him. It was better than the alternative.

“My parents run an Italian restaurant a while away, on the other side of town. I once walked in on my momma doing some, uh, stuff with another guy, not poppa. I swore not to tell, and got away with it. I thought that I never would tell. I didn’t want to tear apart the family.

But a few weeks ago, my dad and I were talking and he mentioned how much he loved my momma and that he would probably be able to love her forever. Before I knew what I was doing, I blurted out the truth. When Momma got home from her lunch with her friends, he blew up at her, and she kicked me out of the house. My dad didn’t complain, he claimed that he would have been fine oblivious and happy, ya see he’s not the smartest guy.

I’ve been alone on the3 streets for three weeks, and it’s my birthday today, so I felt like treating myself. I had no idea that it was you the second time, I must be kinda tired from not sleeping in a bed for three weeks. I uh, also met a rat and named her Bella earlier.”

Spot stared at him in surprise.

“I thought that you were just a brat who wanted to be a cool street kid. Lucky thing you made a pun, eh? I’m glad you did. I’ll let you keep my cigar, I was gonna give it as a gift to another guy anyway, he helped me out a couple weeks ago. How about you sell papes like the rest of us? That could work.”

Spot was still nodding.

Anthony was stunned. He had expected Spot to say that he wasn’t good enough and then kick him out and beat him to pulp. With his luck today, that’s probably what would have happened.

Or maybe his luck was improving. He could go back to betting on race horses. That would be a good source of income.

But… had also met Spot and made an ally (not a friend yet. The two didn’t really know anything about each other). He could sell Newspapers too and make a whole group of friends, all supporting each other. That would be good. Not like he had anything better to do.

“I’ll do it. Thanks Spot.”

“Oh but you shouldn’t sell here. If you accidentally take a different guy’s selling spot, I wouldn’t be able to stop him from kicking you halfway to Queens. There are a couple of guys I know in Manhattan who sell papes there, the New York World. I’ll take you there tomorrow. I can buy some papes there, the price is the same, and sell on my way back.”

Anthony looked outside. It was already dark. He hadn’t had anything to eat. He got to keep his cigar. This would work.

He climbed up onto the top bunk and curled up. HE was almost asleep when the door opened.

“Go somewhere else.” There was some whispering. “I don’t care that you’re tired, there’s new meat that I’m bringing to Manhattan tomorrow.”

The door closed.

Anthony fell asleep.

. . .

Spot shook him awake what felt like only a couple hours later. It was still dark out, but they had to go introduce him to the other newsies in Manhattan, and they got up to buy the papers at sunup, so Anthony needed to be there at sunup. Hence, getting up very early.

Spot explained this on the way, and they shared a stale roll of bread that Spot somehow got, Anthony didn’t remember exactly. His mind was still foggy from waking up so early and the crazy day before.

“Oh yeah, Race, I forgot to ask how old ya are now. Yesterday was your birthday.”

“I’m fifteen. You?”

“Sixteen. Just about a month ago. The other guys look up to me, no idea why. I guess I’m sort of their mascot? But that doesn’t make much sense cuz they take my orders.

Anthony snorted. They kept walking in silence, sharing the roll.

. . .

A few other kids were on the streets too, but they were wandering together, joking and fighting with sticks. They ran ahead.

“Ah shoot, we’re gonna be late. Jack’s gonna be gone. Let’s hurry up, Race.”

Anthony and Spot broke into a jog. All of the Newsies were gathered around a gate, and a kid about their age let them in. They all spit on his shoes. They looked like a fun bunch.

Anthony followed spot up to a kid who was getting first in line.

“Jack, this is a guy I met the other day. The other guys from Brooklyn would eat him alive. Can he sell with ya for a few days?”

“Oh! Hey Spot. Sure he can. Me an’ Crutchie’s gonna go scout out some new spots today anyway, so he can take one of em.”

Jack looked at Anthony. He smiled.

“What’s your name?”

This was the moment where he made the decision of what he would be called by his new group, the people he would probably be with for the next long while. He could be Anthony, and still live in his parents’ shadow, worried that they would find him and hrt him. Or he could be someone else.

“I’m Race,” said Race. Jack smiled again at Race.

“Here’s the crew. Many of them don’t do well with new people, so I’mma just tell you their names.”

While Jack was talking, Race took the cigar out of his hat and started chewing on it. It tasted weird, different than the one he had shared with his dad. He liked it.

Eventually he and Jack and Crutchie all went out to sell the papes, and that evening Jack found a place in the lodging house that many of the other Newsies (not all of them, JoJo lived with the nuns and Sniper lived with her dad) lived in for Race.

In just three weeks, Race had gone from in a happy nuclear family to homeless, to Newsie, and he couldn’t be happier.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't really know how to end it so the ending is kind of meh. Tell me if you think I should add more to this. I like writing younger Race.


End file.
